


Hands of Time

by Hollybush



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollybush/pseuds/Hollybush
Summary: Despite Elio being the sole reason he’s still standing, that he’s happy, that he’s living as opposed to faking an existence like he’s aiming for a fucking Oscar. Despite himself, he’s standing on the opposite side of the room, feeling his mother’s eyes on his back as he muddles with his empty coffee cup, ignoring Elio, who is letting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and written on a spur, so there's only me to blame. I will probably come back to edit. Probably.

 

_1_

He’s never been touched so much in his life. Funny how that realization sneaks up on him from time to time.

He likes being touched, he always has and he thinks that he is, by nature, an affectionate person. But his upbringing did not include casual touches, frowned upon any showing of emotion and it made every single touch he bestowed on people stand out like a beacon. It made it something to be ashamed of. Made him mumble apologies for putting his hand on a shoulder, a kiss on a cheek.

When he arrived in Italy and the Perlmans stepped forward, all smiles and honeyed touches before he’d even made it into the door, it marked a change in him he was instantly aware of.

These days, he doesn’t spare many a thought for it, except for these moments where they fall away and he is forced to consider how used he has become to being touched and how empty it makes him feel when they disappear for a while. 

Fingers in his hair, hands between his shoulder blades, bare feet, warm and dry on top of his shins or cold and fidgety, hiding underneath his thighs.

He thinks back to his childhood and can remember days going by without being touched at all. Now, not a day goes by he is not touched, not _loved_.

By Elio who is a tactile person and who has claimed Oliver’s body as his own. He touches it as if it belongs to him, which of course it does.

His hands, his lips, the air around him. He can feel him even when they’re not actually touching, feel his personal space invaded by Elio’s and it feels like a touch all the same.

He loves it. He needs those touches that Elio bestows on him without even thinking about it. It’s never without consideration but he does it carelessly, not doubting whether or not they’ll be accepted. He knows how touch-starved Oliver is. He’s never commented on it but he acts on it, and Oliver’s grateful for both.

When they’re apart, which they never are for long, he actually longs for them, a desire so deep it scratches at his bones. He’ll dream about it. He’ll wake up and want those legs entwined with his, hands clutching at his side, hair tickling his face. He’ll think about those elegant fingers touching his when handing him a cup of coffee, of their bodies sliding together and apart as they get in and out of the shower, a dance of necessity in a bathroom as small as theirs. They’re thinking about looking for a different apartment but Oliver is standing his ground on a small bathroom. Luckily though, they live In New York and on their budget bathrooms only come in size small.

But it’s not just Elio.

The Perlmans, as he soon discovered, even before he discovered much else, are touchy-feely people of the literal sort. His parents would be disgusted at their blatant displays of emotion. Of affection.

They’re _affectionate_. They love loudly and openly and Oliver loves it. He loves _them_. It took him quite a long time to get used to it, even when it took no time at all to fall in love with all of them. 6 years in now, and he’s come to accept their touches and their words of encouragement, of pride, of love. Has come to depend on it even. Anything he has to say, he says to Elio first and to Elio’s parents second. When his book was published, when he was offered new courses to teach, when he was looking for ways to avoid the ‘ _not getting married after all, I’m sorry, but I’m going back to Italy and I don’t know how long for’_ talk with his parents, he called Samuel and last Sunday, when his father had a heart attack, he called Annella. When he knew he wanted to ask Elio to call him by his last name as well as by his first, he called them both, knowing he would get their permission but wanting to hear it all the same.

He’ll never do that with his own parents. Never has. He’s surprisingly okay with that. _You can’t have everything_ , is what he used to say when people asked him about his relationship with his parents. Turns out, he can.

And now…

Now he’s not only finding out all over again that it doesn’t, in fact, come naturally to him. He’s also giving Elio the idea that it’s unwelcome.

He’s still not sure it was a good idea to bring Elio here, to his father’s bedside, and that annoys him. Had he been with Lis still, he wouldn’t have wasted a thought on it, but he’s not with Lis, he’s with Elio. He’s more with Elio than he’s ever been with Lis and he’s been with Elio longer.

And despite all that, despite their history, despite their relationship having been as good as he could have dared hope, despite him loving Elio more than he will love anyone else in this lifetime. Despite them being partners in every sense of the word. Despite the ring in his pocket that’s been keeping for weeks.

Despite Elio being the sole reason he’s still standing, that he’s happy, that he’s living as opposed to faking an existence like he’s aiming for a fucking Oscar. Despite himself, he’s standing on the opposite side of the room, feeling his mother’s eyes on his face as he muddles with his empty coffee cup, ignoring Elio, who is letting him.

That’s so unlike Elio it scares him a bit. He wants to catch his eye and see him wink or grin or just…just look at him the way he does sometimes. But he’s giving Oliver his space, because that’s what Oliver told him to do.

_This is hard enough as it is, without us showing off._

_Showing off? Showing off what?_

_You know what I mean._

_Actually, I don’t. I wasn’t aware that we formed some sort of parade._

_Dammit, Elio, you know what I’m talking about. They have enough trouble with me being who I am as it is. Seeing us together…_

Elio hadn’t said anything else. He’d looked at him, nodded and left the room. He’d been hovering near the hotel entrance when Oliver got down to the taxi stand, slow to get into their waiting cab, waiting for Oliver to get in and not saying a word all the way over. Also unlike Elio.

He’d been angry for about 10 minutes. Angry that he’d made Oliver say those things. Angry that Elio just didn’t _want_ to understand.

But then they’d arrived at the hospital and he’d watched Elio’s fluttering hands mess with the door handle, watched him get out the car and wait for him to do the same.

He’d watched him from the corners of his eyes as he followed from a distance just too great to bridge, out of touching range _, out of reach_. Watched as Elio let Oliver lead while he followed, but never too close. He nodded hello to Oliver’s mother who narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips but didn’t say anything, he offered to get tea and returned with lunch as well but he didn’t say anything else, he didn’t come near Oliver and he definitely didn’t touch him.

And Oliver understands now why Elio had been so uncharacteristically hesitant back at the hotel.

He’d been waiting for Oliver to tell him to stay put, that he’d go over to the hospital alone. He’d been waiting but he’d also been giving him an out.

He was giving him an out even now.

As he sat there, outside the room, on the farthest end of the waiting area, alone, he was giving him an out. No one would guess they even knew each other. Oliver didn’t think they’d ever gone this long without speaking, save for the months between their before and after.

He hates himself. It’s been a long time since he’s hated himself. Approximately 6 years.

But now, as he watches the man he intends to spend his entire life with, the person he truly loves, hold himself back to give him the option of pretending they’re nothing to each other…

The words slip out as if he’d planned it this way.

“I’m going to marry him.”

He almost gasps for air at the end of that sentence. He had not seen that coming. The thing is, he’s always prided himself on knowing himself.

_I know myself too well._

But truth is, it’s something that happened out of necessity. When no else knows you, when you can’t be who you are, well…you’re forced to come to terms with why that is. You have to know yourself, to be able to hide yourself and that’s something he’s been exceptionally good at.

But then he met Elio and all that went out the window.

He never realized though, that as a result, he surprises himself at times. Like right now. He doesn’t regret it, it’s true after all, and it’s something he knows _absolutely_ will make him very happy. Still, he would not have chosen to do it this way, had he had the chance to think it through.

If he expected shock or anger, however, those expectations go right out the window. His mother doesn’t even turn her head.

“You really think this is the best time to talk about that?”

He doesn’t look at her.

“No, but since we won’t see much of each other once this is all over, this is probably the only time to tell you. And I thought you should know.”

He’s still not looking but he knows she’s not looking at him either, her eyes trained on the bed in front of them, on her husband hooked up to tubes and lines.

“You thought I should know?”

An echo.

He smiles. She doesn’t have to know why.

“I _wanted_ you to know.”

She turns then, finally and her eyes are like X-rays, which he feels is strangely appropriate, given their setting.

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

He’s surprised to find he’s telling the truth.

“And I want him to know that I told you. That I’m not ashamed.”

She is still looking at him and he can feel it but he doesn’t look back.

“Is that why he’s all the way over there? Because you’re ashamed?”

There is no triumph in her voice. Maybe she’s just too tired, but maybe she’s 6 years older as well.

“No.”

“Then why? I can’t imagine this is why you brought him here. To have him run for tea and soup.”

He does look up now because he if he’s going to stand up to her, he should have the balls to look her in the eye.

“I’m not ashamed. But I made him think I am. And I hate myself for that. So I’m telling you so that you know. That I love him and we are going to spend our whole lives together.”

Her eyebrow pulls up.

“You think I didn’t know that?”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know how to respond to this. He’s never given it much thought. They disapproved and that’s all there was to it.

She sighs and it’s so deep and weary that he wonders if she is, in fact, alright.

“Oliver, you left Lisa for this boy. You gave up your job. You told your father and I goodbye and left for another country.”

She holds his gaze.

“You really think I don’t know that means that you love him? I may not be an expert on you, or on love for that matter, but I do know that one does not do those things for nothing.”

He swallows. His lips are dry. He wants to reach for the long gone cold tea on the table but he can’t make himself move.

“So…so you…know?”

“Yes, Oliver. I know. So does your father, for that matter. We are not fools. We may not approve of any of it, but we are aware that you are in love with him. And seeing as how he is here with you, six years later, he must love you as well. So no, I am not surprised to hear that you are going to marry him. Though where you intend to do that is beyond me.”

He forces his fingers to relax, places what’s left of the paper cup on the table.

“We’ll find a place.”

“Yes, I imagine you will.”

They both fall silent. He’s said what he thinks he came to say, what he thinks he really came here for.

“When is this planned for then?”

He’s genuinely shocked at the question. He’d have thought she’d jump at the chance to pretend their entire conversation, the most honest one they’ve had in perhaps ever, hadn’t happened.

“I have to ask him first.”

An eyebrow pulls up and somehow, this reminds him of Elio.

“You are very sure he will say yes.”

His voice shakes, there’s something stuck in his throat, sharp and salty. He _was_ sure. He thought he was.

“Yes. Or at least, I was. Until today.”

“He’s still here, is he not?”

She doesn’t smile but she does let her gaze wonder over to Elio. He watches his mother stare at his lover, who is staring ahead of him but turns to look at her through the Plexiglas window and he doesn’t look away, though he looks uncomfortable and insecure.

“Perhaps you better do it soon. He looks like he needs it.”

There’s no emotion in her voice and that’s how he knows it is there somewhere. He knows because he does the same thing.

“You used to have that look.”

She looks back at him and her eyes are stern and red-rimmed. He thinks that perhaps she loves him still, and she isn’t hiding it behind any front. She disapproves of every life choice he’s made that has brought him any happiness though. That’s hard to let go of.

“You don’t anymore.”

She looks away again then, and he knows the moment is over. Her attention is once again on her husband and she is dismissing him.

He gets up, pulls at his shirt with sweaty hands.

“We’ll go, then. Come back tomorrow morning.”

She nods but keeps her eyes trained on the bed.

He gets up and lets his hand hover near her shoulder, then lets it rest there, briefly, before pulling back. She didn’t lean into it but she didn’t pull away either and he counts that as a win.

Tomorrow, things will likely be back to normal, but for now….

For now, he’s got other priorities.

 

*


	2. 2

 

 

_2_

_I’m taking a shower._

Elio had disappeared into the bathroom as soon as they’d come back to their room and he's been in there long enough for Oliver to understand it's not about bathroom needs, it's about sanctuary. 

Oliver supposes he owes him his space and though he's desperate to make this right, he’s not above acknowledging that he needs the breathing room himself.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, only to stop himself from pacing. The ring in his pocket is weighing him down. He'd been honest with his mother about all of it, even this. He’d been certain he’d say yes, until today.

“Bathroom’s all yours.”

He didn’t realize he’d been sitting on the bed, just staring ahead until Elio’s warm voice breaks the silence. He loves that voice. It’s warm and tender. It can cut, but it never slices. It reminds him of red wine, full-bodied and firm, of honey and chamomile and suntan lotion. On bad days, when work is stressing him out and the subway ride gets on his nerves, just that voice saying his name is enough to shake off the bad day and remind him how lucky he is.

He should tell him that. He should tell him that _right now_.

Elio slides into bed on the other side, fiddles with the sheets, less hesitant now that he’s back on more familiar ground but not himself yet either.

“Are you alright?”

He’s hovering, though not touching, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown, Oliver’s utter stillness throwing him off.

 “Yeah…”

He wants to give voice to the thoughts running rampant and he wonders if his voice has the same effect on Elio as Elio’s does on him.

He wants to and he opens his mouth, but Elio is speaking again, still not touching him, looking at him from beneath those long lashes.

“I know that…I know this isn’t easy. I know you and your parents don’t….but they’re your parents and I didn’t mean to make things harder for you today…”

He does look up then, into eyes he knows so well.

“I’m sorry, Oliver.”

He wants to speak and he’s pretty sure he will soon, can feel the words making their way forward but Elio, lost here, where he’s not allowed to be himself and Oliver isn’t who he usually is…Elio mistakes it for anger.

“Oliver? I know you’re not happy with me at the moment…I mean, not in the general sense, I don’t think, but today and I know...anyway, tomorrow, I was thinking maybe it’s best I don’t go with you. I think that might be easier, you know? For you and your mom…it’s not…I will wait here for you, I won’t go anywhere, and if you do want me to come, of course I will, I was just thinking that…”

“Would you marry me?”

“What??”

_Shit._

This was not….this is not how he’d wanted it come out. He thought for sure there’d be other words first. Words about how _he_ ’s everything and _they_ ’re all there is and how he can’t wait and the rest of his life and how he knew, just knew, from the moment they got back together, and this time for real and this time forever…

But he supposes he will have to save those words for later.

He flips open the box to reveal a ring. Delicate but sturdy. Made to last. 

“ _Will_ you marry me?”

“Oliver.”

He holds the box in one hand, moves his other to Elio’s face, cups his cheek, his thumb following the line from cheekbone to jaw, then up a bit to trace his bottom lip.

“Please, Elio. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t say that before. Why I didn’t ask this before. I was waiting for the perfect moment or something, I don’t even know. But when I saw you in the hospital today, you were so unsure...”

Elio doesn’t pull away, leaves his hand where it is but his look is one of doubt and it breaks Oliver’s heart just a little, another crack to be mended.

“You seemed too far away for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt I couldn’t reach you. And your mother....”

“I told her I was going to marry you.”

He watches Elio blink fast, processing.

“What? You told her that? You really think today was the best time for that?”

“She said the same thing.”

“Well, she had a point…and you hadn’t even asked me yet.”

“Yeah, she said that too. Are you going to answer?”

The look he gets answers for him.

“As if you thought I would say no.”

“I didn’t, until today.”

Elio pulls back, just a little, and he turns to face him fully now, eyes intent and clear.

“Is that why you’re asking?”

_Are you happy I came here..?_

God, they've come so far but sometimes it's like they've barely moved at all.  

“No…I don’t think so, at least. I don’t know. I’ve been wanting to ask. We’re going to be together always, right? I thought we’d already decided that.”

“We did.”

“Well, then….”

Elio smiles.

“I will.”

Relief settles into his skin as Elio holds out his hand.

He slides the ring on and they both stare at it for a moment.

“You know, I thought you might break up with me.”

“Excuse me?”

Elio smiles but it’s one of those smiles that’s not really a smile but a grimace and on Elio’s lips, it looks out of place.

“Yeah, just…at the hospital, you wouldn’t look at me and with your mother there…I sort of couldn’t stop thinking that maybe this would turn it all around. That you’d change your mind and that as soon as we got back here, you’d sit me down and end it.”

“In what world would that even happen?”

“I know you love me,”

“Oh, you do? Where’d you get that idea?”

His tone is too cavalier perhaps but it's the incredulity talking and anyway, it helped. The not-a-smile turning into something more genuine, the real thing, even if the hurt is real as well and not yet gone completely.

“Shut up, it just seemed…less impossible today.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head vehemently, as if that could make all this go away. This is a ghost they can do without.

“It’s decidedly not okay. And I’m sorry. But it would never happen. Never. Me without you…it’s not a thing.”

Elio snorts and the grimace is nowhere to be seen. A ghost dispelled.

“It’s not a thing?”

“No. It's not. Oliver without Elio...How could that even happen anymore?”

Elio smiles again but it's his smile this time, his calm and serene and fond and soft and warm and best smile.

“I love you.”

He pulls at the hand in his until the rest of Elio follows, pulls until the curls are back to tickling his chin and he can feel the rise and fall of his breath start to match his once again. Back in tandem.

He buries his nose into the familiar smell of lavender shampoo.

“God, you have no idea.”

“I do actually.”

Yes, he does.

 

*

 

“So, where are we getting married, or didn't you get that far yet?”

They haven’t moved much. He’s opted out of showering even though he smells of airplane and hospital and cold sweat because the equilibrium is still too tender and he doesn’t want to be in a room where Elio isn’t. Not yet.

“You keep saying the same things my mother said. It’s unnerving.”

“I hate to say it but she made some excellent points.”

He doesn’t answer because what is there to say. His thoughts keep going back to the hospital room where he left his mother, where he’ll be back tomorrow, this time with Elio truly by his side.

“She said you looked lost.”

Elio’s head rolls to the left a bit, his body lax, half resting against the headboard, half leaning against Oliver’s warm body.

“I _was_ lost. I always am without you.”

It’s said matter-of-factly, without reproach. Elio, as always, has forgiven him too soon. He often thinks that it’s a good thing he’s hard on himself because Elio lets him off too easy. He looks back and he doesn’t voice an apology because it’s in his eyes and Elio can read those.

“She said I used to have that same look but that I don’t anymore.”

A half-smile filled with sympathy and compassion and relief and love, love, love.

“I’m glad.”

“I think she meant because of you. I don’t have that look anymore because of you.”

“Do you think she’s right?”

“Oh, I have no doubt she is. I didn’t see it on myself back then but after meeting you and falling in love with you and then having to be without you…but I mean…I think she might….be okay. With us.”

Elio’s quiet and he can tell it’s because he’s about to say something he doesn’t want to because it might spoil their only just restored peace.

“What does that mean then?”

“Nothing, honestly. I don’t think anything is really going to change but…I don’t know.”

“Are you sad about that?”

He finds that he isn’t because he’d never expected even this much and he’s made his peace with that a long time ago.

“No. I know that sounds weird, or like I don’t care but…”

“But?”

“But I have a really good life. I have literally everything I want and I always knew I wasn’t going to be close to my parents, it was never really a possibility. I don’t know if it’s their fault even, I think I checked out very early on. It’s nice to know that she knows…that she seems to have come to terms with this, if that much, but no…no, I’m not sad about it. Not for a long time.”

It’s quiet for a bit and he knows Elio’s processing. It’s pretty much the only time he’s ever really quiet.

“So tomorrow..”

“Tomorrow we go there together.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They lean back against the headboard, huddled underneath the sheets, feet together, and let the dimmed sounds of the TV fill the silence. They watch an actor they don’t care about propose to a pretty blonde and this time, it’s he who snorts.

He can feel Elio turn to look at him.

“You know, you’re my fiancé now.”

He grins as Elio cringes and lights up at the same time.

“Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

He turns off the lights and burrows deeper into the blankets, slides down to rest his head on Elio’s stomach and he feels those fingers slip into his hair as he knew they would. He can feel the metal of the ring against his scalp.

“I’m alright with that.”

“Me too.”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't seem to leave these two alone...which means I won't stop writing. I hope someone, somewhere, enjoys it.


End file.
